


make you feel like never before

by neurolingual



Category: RWBY
Genre: :-), F/F, Lesbian Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 09:23:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18246980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neurolingual/pseuds/neurolingual
Summary: She thumbs the latch on her belt, breathing her in–layers of fabric trap in the numbness burning low in her skin, the trail of her fingers leading in ash.“Do it,” Yang says, heavy on her tongue.Blake presses their foreheads together and yanks her free.





	make you feel like never before

**Author's Note:**

> my porn is not for male consumption

The remainder of the ride to Atlas is daunting, to say the least.

Weiss’s expression is unreadable; while the others had returned to their seats, the crook of their mouths no less unsettling, Weiss remains steadfast in the cockpit. Her posture is rigid, chin forward. Her shoulders hold taut like bowstrings on the brink of snapping, planted firmly on the ground.

Ruby is no better. Knowing Ruby her entire life gives Yang the specific advantage of being able to read her sister, but she keeps herself hidden well. She hovers behind Weiss, too close yet not enough, hands drawn behind her back, thumb pressing rough against her palm. Yang watches as the rest of her fingers twitch, the subtle way she rocks forward on the heel of her boots.

She herself remained steadfast—she’s had nineteen years of practice, after all. Yang was no stranger to stoicism; there were nights she remembers at home, their father too wrought with grief to move from the room he shared with Summer, Ruby to afraid to ask for his comfort and instead turned into Yang’s arms until she had cried herself into exhaustion. Yang knows all too well how to bury her feelings, how to claw her way to neutrality in order to protect the emotions of loved ones and those who had never deserved the patience she offered them. Sinking the broken half of Gambol Shroud into Adam’s torso had left her unphased—there was too much to focus on, too much of herself watching Blake crumble to the ground, too much of herself knowing that they had to get back to the team, to Ruby, to take their place in a fight that was not her own.

To her right, uncharacteristic of her, Blake fidgets in her seat.

Yang’s seen her do it only a handful of times before, and that had been mostly due to sleep deprivation. In normal circumstances, Blake kept herself calm, steady. On a daily basis, she hadn’t many reasons to be on edge, and only when she was distracted did she let the habit slide through. As she sits next to her, however, Yang follows her roaming hands with hooded eyes. Blake toys with a loose thread on her trousers, picks at her nails, mouth set in a frown, lost in its own distraction.

She glances down at her own hands, the sliced metal of her forearm, and she fights the wave of nausea that clouds her, forms like lead in her stomach. There are still flecks of blood on her boots that hadn’t been brushed away by the snow, the palm of hand too heavy to hold in the air. The quicker they encroach upon the Atlas border does the realization come to her, the life she took with her hands, the life that stole from her more than just a part of her, more than just her belief in herself—he stole _someone_ , snatched her from the only hand Yang had left in a grip near as strong as a vice, her best friend, her _partner_ —

A hand folds over the shredded metal of her arm and only then does Yang realize she’s been shaking.

“Hey,” croons Blake, carving into the cloud with steady hands. “Where’d you go?”

“Sorry,” Yang let’s out on a breath that’s hardened in steel. “Sorry, I—I was just thinking.”

Blake’s eyes are molten, her cheeks pink. Her thumb roams over the metal, unafraid of sharp edges; Yang wishes she could feel it.

Blake’s right ear twitches—Yang is starting to fall into the familiarity of it. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

 _Yes_ , she wants to say. _Please, you’re the only one I can trust with this. You understand. You **know**_.

But they’re not alone. For the most part, the others feign giving them privacy, but it’s barely large enough to hold everyone; if Yang wiggles her boot, she could kick Jaune in the shin. Most everyone is trained on the air fleet imposing along the border, but Nora keeps flicking back to them, not at all subtle. The fact that Ozpin could easily be listening makes her skin crawl. She can feel the simmer build in her blood, heat pulsing behind her eyes. She shakes her head, a quick one-off and settles more into the space they’ve built between each other, the hull of the airship hard against her back.

“Not right now.” It’s barely audible, but Blake’s ears fold just the smallest bit forward and her smile is soft, kind, understanding.

She slides her hand down Yang’s arm and drums her fingers on the heel of Yang’s palm before taking it in her own. She covers it with the other and pulls it into her lap, drawing slow shapes on the inside of her forearm.

Yang traces the movements; her eyes follow up the length of Blake’s arm, the bow of her neck, the squirm of her mouth as she wiggles through a smile, the darkening of her cheeks.

There’s a thundering in her chest that she wishes Blake could feel.

(By the way her eyes shine, Yang thinks she already does).

 

 

 

The amenities they’re given on the military compound are… uninspiring, to say the least. The walls are carved sterile from the white metal, the only defining characteristic being the stretch of crystal blue that runs the length of it. As far as she’s seen, which isn’t much, none of the corridors have any windows looking out. There is one in the room that she shares with Blake, but it’s barely a foot wide and only allows in enough light to give the semblance of sunlight and nothing more.

Their shared common room does offer an open view to the grounds below, but it’s about as exciting as the rest of the base. Ruby had tried to inject some sort of excitement into the fact that they were able to watch the different types of airships take of and land on the strip, but after about an hour, even she started to lose interest. There were only so many games they could play on their scrolls before boredom set in—even Weiss challenged Blake to a few rounds, promptly losing every time. Yang never thought she’d see Blake lose interest in a book, but when the only pickings were tired anthologies on military strategy, it’s a marvel Yang hadn’t seen her brain melt out of her ears.

Winter had promised to stop by two days ago with an update but had yet to return since. Weiss was constantly checking her scroll, even when it hadn’t pinged, just in case she had missed something—maybe a call, maybe an email—in the few instances she had set it down to do something else.

In a fit of irritation Yang hadn’t seen in a long time, Blake rolls her eyes and stares pointedly at Weiss. “If Winter really wanted to talk to us, she would have by now.”

And it’s the breaking point that they all tumble in to.

“She’s _busy_!” Weiss snaps, foot stamping into the floor. “She has a lot to do. She runs her own fleet!”

“It’s okay, Weiss,” Ruby says, voice calm, placating, reaching out to touch her arm—Weiss yanks it away. Deflated, Ruby continues, “I’m sure she’ll be around soon enough.”

“I doubt it,” Yang huffs, hunching further into the couch. “They’re keeping us in the dark on purpose.”

“We’re on the brink of _war_ , Yang,” Weiss leans into her stance, aggressive. “Of _course_ there are things they’re keeping from us!”

“It’s not like we couldn’t help,” Blake says, pressing into the cushion behind her. “We probably have more information than Ironwood _or_ your sister.”

 _We’re young_ , Yang thinks, crosses her arms farther over her chest. _We shouldn’t have all this information. We shouldn’t have the world resting on our shoulders_.

She expresses as much, and its Ruby who rounds on her. Blake grabs her shoulder, presses her thumb along the bone, keeps her close.

“This is what we signed up for!” Her hands curl into fists, indignant at her sides. Weiss looks to the left. Blake holds her tighter. Yang furrows her brow. “And we’ve come too far to give up now!”

“Yang wasn’t saying we should give up,” Blake snaps; Yang reaches behind her, holds Blake’s hand against her shoulder. “She was pointing out that the whole reality of this is unbelievable.”

“But it’s not impossible!” Yang can see the anger rise from her sister’s shoulders, sees it roll off her in waves, palpable to the change of the room. “We can still do this!”

“We’re not saying that—”

Weiss scoffs. “Oh, so you speak for the two of you now?”

The words catch in Blake’s throat, her stuttering audible.

The change in Yang is instant; her eyes are bloody, filling with heat that spills through her irises, grows in projection as she rises to her feet. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

It’s something indescribable, watching the way Weiss trips over her words, the way regret blooms red across her face. She shrinks away, stepping back into Ruby who jerks forward, arm swung across Weiss like it could protect her.

“Yang—” but Ruby isn’t able to finish.

“Frankly,” Yang takes forceful steps forward; if the ground could shake, Yang swears she could make an avalanche. “I don’t actually _want_ you to explain, because it’s none of your _damn_ business.” Yang shoves her finger into Weiss’s chest—the pressure alone is near enough to make herself fidget. “You have no idea what’s going on. You have no idea what I’ve been through. What _we’ve_ been through.”

“Yang,” Blake’s voice cuts through soft, a hand curled over her bicep, keeping Yang at bay. She thinks of giving in, of letting Blake drag her away to someplace safer, against her chest. But she yanks herself free, imposing in on the others’ space, not caring in the way Ruby steps up to the challenge.

“You have no _idea_ what I’ve gone through to get here with her,” she lets slip; she pretends not to hear the way Blake chokes down a breath behind her, pretends that blue and silver eyes don’t widen. “You have no idea what I’m feeling, what she’s feeling, what we’ve done.” Yang feels the anger grow, spread roots along her ribs. “Do you even _care_ that we took someone’s life? That we _killed_ someone?”

Weiss finally blinks, swallows the lump in her throat. “Of course, I care—!”

“Then you should know to keep your mouth shut!”

“That’s _enough_!”

Four heads snap toward the doorway. Oscar stands, leaning against the cane, his eyes not his own. His chin is set firm, stature imposing despite trapped in the body of a young boy.

It only sets Yang off more.

“How long have you been standing there,” she demands, quick to turn on her heels, but Blake is even quicker; she steps in front of Yang, holds her tight against her chest. Yang feels her body relax on its own accord.

“I’ve only just arrived here, Miss Xiao Long.” Ozpin rightens. “But you’re not the quietest of people.”

Ruby breaks through. “Professor, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here right now.”

His stare hardens. “I’ve heard enough arguing out of the four of you for one day. You need each other more than ever, now. We can’t afford to be divided.”

Yang scoffs, hung on a laugh. “Oh, you’ve got some _nerve_ , pal.”

But Ozpin stands strong, broadens his shoulders as much as Oscar’s body will allow. He turns his attention away from Yang and directs it behind her. “Miss Rose, Miss Schnee—it may be best if the two of you step outside for a while and give your two teammates a bit of time to talk.”

Weiss nods almost too quick, sparing Yang a hidden glance as she collects Myrtenaster from where it rests against the leg of the coffee table. Ruby holds her gaze on the side of Yang’s face, burning into her skin. Eyes shrewd, she stalks after her partner, giving Ozpin an ample amount of space to scoot around.

The resounding silence nearly chokes her.

The professor says nothing else, only narrows his eyes as he shuts the door behind him. Through the remaining crack, Yang can see Oscar settle back into his shoulders.

Blake says nothing. Her hold on Yang has loosened, but it still remains. She slides her hands down her arms, takes Yang’s wrists between them.

But Yang refuses to look.

The way Black holds her, grounds her like setting stone is something she’s never experienced. After she lost her arm, any contact she received was feather-like and fleeting, other than the few hugs her teammates had crushed her in before they remembered. Ruby held more concern against her chest than Yang thought was deserved, but her sister never pushed, never pried, and Yang never thought she would miss the way her sister teased her, tackled her for the last cookie, shoved her off the couch. Weiss wasn’t one for affection to begin with, but over the years she had begun to allow for subtle touches: a brush against the arm; a hand on the back; and a nudge against the shoulder. Weiss’s loss hadn’t hit her immediately, but instead grew over her arm like moss, a reminder of what was rotting.

But it was almost like Blake couldn’t stop touching her. Like the thought would choke her, would claw its way forward until it was acted upon, holding on to Yang like a lifeline—like it grounded her in much the same way.

It’s not as though she touched her with rough hands, but instead, they were conscious, thoughtful in the way she placed herself on Yang’s body. She touched her with intention, deliberate in the pressure she gave with her hands, her fingers.

Blake ducks low, eyes a ring solid in gold, solid in a constant Yang has never seen directed at her before.

“Hey,” Blake lifts a hand to cup Yang’s jaw, but she stops herself, and for the first time since that day back at Beacon, Blake looks at her, unsure.

But for a completely different reason.

Yang feels the heat drain from her eyes, drain through her face until it settles back in her chest to thump a dangerous beat against her sternum, blood thrumming below her skin. As this happens, Blake’s features grow confident, sure of herself, and she lifts her hand entirely, holds Yang’s jaw in her hand and combs a finger along her cheek, tracing along the bone.

“Look at me,” she says, and Yang thinks she might drown.

Love has held a different meaning to her the entirety of her life—it held itself in abandonment, in loss, where death and escape lay dormant in the corners. The only constant has been her sister, and between them is a bond that Yang could never yield; raising Ruby had taken all of her, but there lied an intrinsic, an eternal canvas the two of them could create for the rest of their lives.

What stands before her—Blake—was a foundation for Yang to build upon by her own, and the territory is new, treacherous, treading along the cliffside with the wind biting at her heels.

In her rumination, Blake’s other hand had come to cup her face. Her eyes linger just below Yang’s nose, her the ears atop her head in Yang’s line of sight. The right one twitches. Yang feels roots bloom.

“I’m sorry,” it falls from Yang’s lips in a definitive acceptance, shoulders sagging forward. Blake holds all of her in her hands. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Blake echoes and its as healing as a prayer.

“I think I’m…” Yang sighs. “I think I’m just tired.”

Blake lets her hands fall from Yang’s face, takes her wrists with purpose. “Then let’s go to bed.”

Yang’s blood ignites.

Her mouth is dry, but she follows Blake’s lead, the door to their bedroom drawing near. “Together?”

Blake’s smile is far from coy. “It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

“But we were kids then.”

A shrug. “We aren’t kids now.”

“No,” Yang says, eyes falling to Blake’s mouth—not like it was new, not like she hadn’t wanted to before, hadn’t wanted to for years—“We aren’t.”

The hydraulics hiss as their door slides open; the brightness of the overhead light causes her to squint, eyes adjusting to white instead of gold. Blake releases her as they stand in the center of the room, and the shift in her is sudden—she grips her arm from across her chest as though she’s holding herself back, shoulders nearly limp as she casts her gaze to the succulent that rests along their fireplace mantle. Her ears pin against the side of her head, her cheeks in full bloom.

“Hey,” it’s Yang who speaks, takes that step forward. “What happened just now?”

Blake shrugs, still holding on to herself. “I don’t know. I don’t—” She swallows, licks her lips, a groan heavy in frustration; Yang’s mouth runs dry. “I wish I knew what I was doing.”

Tearing her eyes away, Yang quirks a brow. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t mean to assume,” Blake is quick to defend herself. “Earlier, I mean. And, well—just now, too.” When she meets Yang’s eyes amber drips into gold. “I don’t want you—I—” She groans again, slamming her eyes shut. “You and me don’t have to be a we.”

Despite herself, Yang can feel a tug at the corner of her mouth. “Nice rhyme.”

And without preamble, Blake stumbles through a snipped giggle. “Shut up. I’m trying to be serious.”

Yang reaches low. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

Blake sucks her teeth, pushes her tongue against the inside of her cheek. “You’re not doing yourself any favors, here.”

Yang feels a blush creeping up her neck, along her nose. “I know.” She holds her prosthetic like she’s pinching, willing some sort of recognition, but the limb hangs heavy like a dead weight, missing the thrum of a certain pulse.

“I mean it, though,” Blake catches her eye. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m backing you into a corner or anything.”

“I never said that you were.”

“Yeah, but,” Blake grinds the toe of her boot into the carpet. “We… need to talk.”

Through a harsh breath, Yang sighs. “I know.”

Yet neither of them does.

They let the ticking clock do the talking for them, the low thump of footsteps in the halls above settling in the silence. The space around them encloses, forces air into her lungs that doesn’t entirely belong to her, like she was stealing it from someone else.

“You know,” Blake finally chances, and the room becomes smaller, the distance that separates them a nuisance. “Whatever you went through to get here with me, I…” She meets her eyes and it’s like coming home—finally, finally home. “I went through the same things to get here with you.”

And Yang can’t stop it; it carves a path from her tongue in a wave past her lips, dripping in a warmth that she’s never felt before. “ _Baby_.”

It’s the final cord that snaps; Blake lurches forward and claims Yang’s mouth with her own.

Blake has always had herself planted by seeds in Yang’s life. She was always growing, loving, evolving. As she kisses Yang, though, she begins to take root, begins to wind her way along calloused edges Yang had never meant to expose her to but that Blake takes in stride, takes between her hands so that Yang can feel her everywhere, all around.

Her hands come to hold Yang’s head by her jaw, and Yang snakes her own behind Blake’s back, the curve of her chest sending shocks down through her arms, her fingers, curls in her toes and causes her head to buzz.

Blake has to feel it too; the way she sucks in a breath, hands falling to Yang’s waist to steady herself, ground them both like she always has. Tender hands train along the band of her pants, asking for answers that Yang is overwhelmingly sure that she’ll give.

She thumbs the latch on her belt, breathing her in–layers of fabric trap in the numbness burning low in her skin, the trail of her fingers leading in ash.

“Do it,” Yang says, heavy on her tongue.

Blake presses their foreheads together and yanks her free.

The belt clatters to the ground as Blake fumbles with the button, mouth hanging sloppily against Yang’s lips. As it pops free Yang takes Blake into herself, takes her bottom lip between her teeth and _bites_. It’s pornographic, the sheer silk of the moan she swallows, and Yang lifts her hand, closing around Blake’s throat enough for it to repeat, for Yang to feel it ride through her hand, up her arm, weave through her bones.

It’s enough that Blake loses concentration, hands slipping against the leather, pushing under the hem of Yang’s shirt. Her nails scratch down her abdomen, over her navel and Yang’s pelvis twitches forward, molds into the palms of Blake’s hands. She feels the smirk on her mouth and the confidence that blooms along with it as Yang stutters; Blake slips her tongue past Yang’s lips and licks the roof of her mouth, gaining the upper hand.

Yang releases her hold on Blake’s neck to drag it down her chest, a noise too soft in its request for descension. A breath lies heady between them as Blake parts just enough to nod before crashing into Yang again, and Yang acquiesces, palms at her breast and Blake’s mouth cracks over a moan loud enough to ring in her ears.

A hand is quick to cover her own mouth as Blake’s eyes snap open, but before it can reach Yang takes hold, guides it to her own chest, squeezing against Blake’s hand. “Don’t,” Yang husks, nipping at Blake’s jaw, traveling low. “I want to hear you.”

Blake falls in a quiver. Through trembling hands, she gives Yang’s breast a curious squeeze, testing the waters. Yang hums in a near purr, eyes sliding shut.

“That feels good.”

“Yeah?” Blake groans, voice growing with the confident strokes of her thumb. “I think you’re wearing too many layers.”

Mouth curling wicked against Blake’s neck, Yang runs her tongue along Blake’s pulse and sucks. “I’m inclined to agree.”

It’s the permission Blake takes with prodding hands, quick to tug Yang’s zipper down, loosen the collar around her neck. She struggles with the leather jacket tight over her shoulders, but she makes do, ducking to sink her teeth into Yang’s flesh below the thundering of her heartbeat.

Yang isn’t loud, hardly gruff in her moan. Her head falls back and it’s breathier than anything; she feels the twitch of Blake’s ear against the underside of her jaw, the warmth of the tip pressing to her.

“ _Oh_ ,” Blake murmurs, words traveling across her neck, under her skin. “I _like_ that.”

“Y-yeah,” Yang chokes on her tongue, working to loosen the button of Blake’s pants.

There’s something growing wicked against her skin as Blake reaches the shell of her ear, takes her lobe between her teeth. She releases it with a pop. “What’s the matter?” Her hand travels around to Yang’s ass, gripping her forward. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Fuck you,” Yang says, struggling to swallow her laughter, but Blake’s not as shy. It’s lilting and soft and curls with a melodic charm that’s meant only for her, a song Blake’s composed on her own, conducts with only Yang in mind.

There’s a moment where the headiness stops, where Yang takes into account all of the places Blake presses against her body, the warms of her skin that she thinks even her prosthetic can feel prickling like goosebumps in her wake. Blake’s hand still cups her as the other snacks around to grip hang against the back of her neck, tugging at the loose, blonde curls that hang there, waiting for her.

But Blake pulls back from where her head rests against Yang’s shoulder, meeting her eyes. Lilac and gold melt together as they fall in, eyes closed as they rest together, unrelenting.

Blake’s movements have slowed, now, methodical in how she controls herself, though Yang can sense the desire thrumming just below her skin. Her jacket finally falls to the ground and Blake allows herself a moment—brief but poignant—to rest her hand where flesh becomes metal and presses in, curls her fingers as if to say _I feel you_ , as if to say _I’ve always felt you_.

Yang curls her palm over Blake’s jaw and draws their mouths together, kisses her slow.

There’s so much behind the direct press against her mouth, Blake wanting to drive home a point, wanting to pour herself into Yang until she feels enough, feels consumed. Her nails rake up beneath Yang’s shirt, careful to lift it over her chest and reluctant to break contact. But Yang allows the fabric to be carved from her body, allows Blake to press her hands open against her stomach, stretching out her fingers, taking in as much of her as she could hold.

“You’re beautiful.” It falls from Blake’s lips like a declaration, something with the resolve and ferocity of a promise, concrete. She curls her hands around Yang’s sides and tugs her close, captures her mouth again.

Fumbling hands take turns in revealing secret skin, the freckles that pepper along Yang’s chest, the scars that follow Blake beyond the bend of her hip. A pile forms at their feet and Yang leads them towards the bed, the back of her knees folding over the mattress and she sinks down, takes Blake into her lap and allows her hands to roam over the subtle blossom of rose over her chest, along her neck.

They fall against the mattress as one, beginning where the other ends. Blake is quick to shed herself of her undergarments and Yang wiggles out of her own. The first press of skin flush against the other ignites like a matchstick, breath ghosting down her chest like gasoline and leaves her smoldering.

Blake combs her fingers in Yang’s hair and licks into her mouth.

It’s all consuming, the taste of Blake unguarded on her tongue. Her lips are plump and full, swollen from Yang’s persistence. It’s messy, the two of them not quite falling into step, but it’s plenty; it’s drawing from Yang peppering sounds of want, careless in the way they tumble out of her.

Their shifting lands eager thighs slotting together. Blake is slick and hot on her skin, grinding herself down against Yang, begging for friction. Her mouth loses ferocity, focus on bringing the heat between her thighs to full. Yang mimics her—Blake’s muscles tense and it’s what spurs on the whimper that lifts Blake’s head, curious to the noise.

Her head tilts to the side as she flexes her thigh again, experimentally. Yang’s back arcs from the mattress notched like an arrow in a bowstring, and she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, holding herself back. Blake does it again, again, and presses her lips to the corner of Yang’s mouth and drags them down, down.

Her teeth sink into the flesh above Yang’s collar, quick to soothe it with broad strokes of her tongue. Her hands keep Yang from pressing up into her, enough pressure that Yang can feel heat sprout from where her fingers touch, where they grip. She continues on, scraping her teeth over Yang’s nipple and wraps her lips around it, releases with a wet pop. Yang lifts her chest, begging for Blake’s mouth, but she continues, presses hot, sloppy kisses down Yang’s abdomen, the soft ridges of her muscles, cutting through her skin. Her teeth nip on the bones protruding from Yang’s hips, and she presses her mouth down in a kiss hot above where Yang needs her most.

“Please,” Yang croons, skin peppered with goosebumps. “I need you.”

Blake parts Yang with curious fingers, drawing between her lips in calm strokes. She’s purposeful in avoiding her clit, Yang’s hips twitching upwards, desperate for contact. Her thumb presses against the length of her and climbs up, up, swipes the pad over Yang’s clit and sends her hips jerking into the air.

Blake meets her hips with an open mouth and takes all of her in.

The wet, persistent heat of her tongue melts over Yang’s thighs, taut muscles going slack with each broad stroke. Deft hands guide her legs over Blake’s shoulders and curl over her hips, pull her further into Blake’s mouth.

She finds what Yang likes through the motion of her hips. Broad, defined strokes lift her high from the mattress; quick with the tip flings her forward, unsatisfied. Circling with intent draws long, heavy groans that build in volume. Though she holds Yang to the mattress, it’s Yang who leads—Blake follows after her, drinking her in, deliberate in making sure Yang knows it’s her she’s after, her she wants in her hands, in her mouth, her clit between her lips.

Yang fists the curtain of black hair out of Blake’s eyes, mindful of her ears. Her prosthetic rest below one, thumb against the base. She rakes through the tuft of fur along the fold and Blake purrs against her clit, takes all of Yang into her mouth and it’s—

Yang’s toes curl, her knees jerk to snap around Blake’s head, trapping her hands between them. Hips canting from the bed and Blake’s name like a curse on her tongue, loose in the air and Yang breathes her back in, coil snapped and pooling hot below her skin.

Her eyes are lidded when Blake lifts her head between Yang’s thighs and the sight alone is enough to make her wet again. Blake crawls over her body and drapes across her abdomen, turning shy as she tucks hair behind her ear.

Her right ear flicks forward.

“Hi,” she says like she can’t catch her own breath.

 _I love you_ , Yang wants to say.

 _I love you_ , Blake wants to say back.

Instead: “I want to taste you.”

And instead: “Let me sit on your face.”

Yang has her hand wrapped under Blake’s thighs before Blake can push herself off her elbows, nearly tossing her forward. There’s a laugh that rumbles against her chest—unsure who it belongs to, thinks it may as well belong to them both at this point. There’s no headboard for Blake to sink into, hands at a loss of where to rest. Yang lifts her knees, takes Blake by her thighs and lowers Blake to her face, taking her into her mouth.

The heat of her is dizzying. Heady in the taste of her. There’s a sweetness there that’s undeniable, erupting over her tongue as Blake grinds down on her chin, legs trembling against Yang’s head.

“Oh,” Blake fists her hand in Yang’s hair. “ _Oh!_ ”

A groan rips out of Yang’s chest and Blake cries out, the grip on Yang’s hair nearly painful.

With enough strength, Yang digs her fingers into the dip below Blake’s hips and lifts her off her chin. “Lean back.”

Squirming, Blake takes trembling strides to rest her weight against her palms that curl over Yang’s thighs. Yang lowers her back to her mouth and strokes her with her tongue, flat and hot on her clit. She lifts Blake high enough to slip her tongue inside her, Blake clenching around her.

Yang’s name drips out of her like melted wax. The jerk of her hips trails her wetness over Yang’s chin, her mouth, already curling at her toes.

As abrupt as it encroaches does Yang lift her completely from her mouth, Blake’s hips liquid and hovering above her. “Get on your knees.”

Through a nearly pained groan, Blake forces her eyes open. “What?”

“On your knees.”

She feels the heat pool between her eyes, and she knows Blake is dripping, dripping from herself as the flashed red pools warm at the apex of her thighs. She swings her legs over Yang’s head and adjusts herself, stretching languid across the sheets, a welcome break from the stifling heat.

Yang doesn’t give her long to adjust, smacking the curve of Blake’s ass, soothing the bright sting with purposeful strokes. Blake pants, fists the sheets in her hands.

“Again.”

Yang obliges.

Seeing the print of her hand bloom over pale skin coils heavy in her navel, feels herself dampen as she slams her thighs shut.

With promising hands, Yang buries a finger inside her, sinking down to the base of her knuckle. A moan tears itself out of Blake’s chest with the intensity of a sob. She slowly drags her finger against her as she slides herself free to the first knuckle and pushes forward with two, curling into Blake as her hips cant.

The heat that clenches around her fingers invigorates her, brings a determination to feel Blake flutter against her, hear Blake call out her name against the broken sky, claim her in a way that was all-consuming. Yang curls her fingers against Blake’s warmth, her hips pressed to Blake’s ass, free arm drawing tight circles over her clit.

“Fuck,” Blake struggles, her breath mangled from cracking ribs. “Fuck. I’m—”

“Cum for me, Blake,” Yang stretches across the length of her to croon against her ear. “Cum for me.”

A cry lurches them both forward as Blake grinds her ass back into Yang’s hand. Her name tumbles sloppy off Blake’s tongue as she clenches around deft fingers, stroking her through crashing waves that tear against the shoreline. Her hips jerk on Yang’s steadfast fingers until her legs give, removing Yang from between her thighs when the pressure becomes too much.

“Holy…” Blake stretches against the mattress, torso pressing in. “Holy shit.”

Yang laughs against her spine, dropping lazy kisses between her shoulders. She takes to drawing languid shapes with the few moles and markings along the expanse of Blake’s back. Blake purrs, twisting in to curl Yang’s prosthetic around her ribs.

For a while, they lie in silence, Yang covering Blake’s bare body with her own, skin flush together, feeling two heartbeats pound against her chest. Blake expands below her with each breath, growing in brevity as she gains more of herself, borrows back the strength that Yang drew from her.

“You know,” Blake murmurs against the sheet. Yang splays her hand open over her sternum. “Now we have to talk about this, too.”

Yang chuckles into a kiss she presses final against the knot of Blake’s spine, snaking up to rest her head beside hers. Blake turns to her and peeks open with one eye, smile still hidden against the mattress.

“We have a lot of things to talk about,” Yang brushes hair behind her ear; Blake reaches over to do the same. “Adding one more to the list won’t hurt.”

Blake hums, turns flush against her side, exposing all of herself to Yang with her elbow curled beneath her head. She lifts her hand, trails her index over the curve of Yang’s brow, the bridge of her nose, the bow of her lip. Yang takes her palm against her mouth, presses a kiss solid against Blake’s heartline.

In the years they had been apart, Yang had never imagined they’d ever have the chance to be this close. Wrapping her arm around Blake she presses their chests flush against another, the slow intake of breath mirroring the rise of stuttering heartbeats that crash against the surface of them both.

When Blake tucks herself beneath Yang’s chin, the possibilities for a new kind of forever, a new kind of love that Yang has begun to build unfolds out in winding paths before her, and the world becomes less clouded, less dark.

Blake presses a kiss above Yang’s heart and the world belongs to them both.

 

 

 

Jaune roams down the hall with his meager cup of tea, caught in his step when he spots Ruby and Weiss lurking at the entrance to their room, faces burning scarlet.

“Are you guys okay?” He asks, inching closer. Ruby looks as though she’s starting to sweat; Weiss might keel over at any moment, eyes tight enough to hurt.

“I was going to apologize,” Weiss says, voice tough. “But I don’t think I want to anymore.”

Jaune blinks, brow raising. “What—”

It’s muffled, but barely; he’s not sure who it belongs to, but it’s loud, wanton. His stomach drops as the cup of tea falls from his hand to the linoleum beneath his feet.

“We say nothing,” Ruby bites, her whisper loud and misplaced. “We say nothing to no one.”

“I don’t think we’re the only ones who—”

“We say _nothing_.”

**Author's Note:**

> *sips coffee*


End file.
